Hands, Palms, Fingers
by LackingWings
Summary: When Hermione arrives at the Astronomy Tower, she has an unexpected encounter. SSHG
1. Hands, Palms, Fingers

Chapter 1: In Her Eyes

Hamstrings groaning in angry protest, Hermione realized that perhaps her New Year's resolution should be the taking of an occasional break from academia—at least long enough to engage in some sort of physical activity, no matter how she despised the thought of said exercise. The dull burning in her lungs convinced her that while her beloved books were doing wonders for her mind, her body, while currently enjoyed its youthfully rapid metabolism, was deceivingly out of shape. True, the stairs to the Astronomy Tower were rather long, and steep, and …perhaps it wasn't her fault that every muscle in her legs complained of all this unwelcome motion. No, no, no! There would be absolutely no excuses. Hermione Granger was nothing if not determined. Perhaps she could persuade Ron to let his two best friends introduce him to a muggle sport. "Yes," she thought, "it was decided".

Hermione let out a sigh of frustration and exhaustion as she completed her journey to the top of the tower. It was uncommonly dark, but she was glad of it. The celebration in the Gryffindor common room had been exceptionally loud and unruly. Seventh year or not, Hermione had no inclination to imbibe the various alcoholic beverages which were littered across the side tables and even lay upon the ground. Of course, they had been transfigured into ornate vases and ink holders, so that any adult who passed might be none the wiser. Hermione had laughed at that. If Professor McGonagall were to step into Gryffindor tower to wish the students a Happy New Year, it would take her less than a moment to discern what was happening. Didn't they know that? Nobody had been particularly offended when Hermione had taken her leave. As she had stepped out of the room, some might have heard the words "any excuse for debauchery" trailing behind her. But no one seemed to notice, except for Ron, who had promptly rolled his eyes in the usual fashion when dealing with Hermione's "stick in the mud" tendencies.

Allowing her eyes time to adjust to the darkness as she stepped into the tower, Hermione took in a deep breath, reveling in her solitude. She had always enjoyed being alone. What some had deemed to be an antisocial inclination was in actuality merely a need to have a bit of peace and quiet. Hermione loved her friends and thoroughly enjoyed the time they spent together. But she had always been something of an old soul, never quite fitting in with her peers. At home she had been the misfit who had been able to retain only a few friends. The loneliness she had felt as a child had developed into the compulsion, every now and then, to take comfort in her own solitary thoughts and musings. And at the moment, the Astronomy Tower fit Hermione's needs perfectly.

She was almost excited as she made her way to her favorite ledge. She knew others would find this emotion foolish when applying it to a ledge. But the view from that spot was one she knew well, and standing there she always felt as if she was flying, while her feet still happily planted on the cold stone of Hogwarts. She couldn't wait. But a few feet from the railing and Hermione violently came to a halt. A dark figure, in all his billowing glory, had taken residence at her spot. The wind was running its hands through Professor Snape's ebony hair, and his cloak was performing a dance of its own in the blustering air. And although she couldn't see his face, Hermione felt waves of sadness emanating from his person.

Hermione frowned. It had always been her nature to help others, and she despised anyone who did not feel the same. But even she would not fault herself upon her current hesitation. Severus Snape was not a man who enjoyed the company of others- of this Hermione was certain. Therefore even in sadness she doubted he would be welcoming of her companionship. Yet Hermione had always had rather soft spot for this specific professor. He radiated a sense of solitude, which was something that appealed to her as well. He often exuded a stony silence, yet in that silence Hermione derived his knowledge and brilliance. And when he had taken to dispassionately rubbing his arm in class, with only the furrow between his brows to indicate his worry, Hermione had shared in his sadness. Still, she had no proclivity to being shouted at or insulted. But he was sitting there so still, but for his unbidden movements due to the wind. The chance to offer a bit of comfort to the man she so greatly respected was too good to pass up; Hermione braced herself as she took her first step towards her professor.

Closer now, Hermione could now see his profile. She never knew a face could express so many simultaneous emotions. And she could name each one: emptiness, sorrow, despair, loneliness. She halted for only a second more before she came up to him, and gently settled her body into a sitting position next to his. Hermione tensed, waiting for the familiar onslaught of verbal insults that commonly left her professor's lips, and most likely an order to return to her room. But there was nothing. Growing braver, Hermione sneaked a look at his face. His countenance hadn't changed a bit. In fact, there was no sign at all that he knew of her presence. Hermione returned her eyes to her lap, emitting a little sigh as she did so. The view was lovely, as always. She stared off for a few minutes, surprised that she was able to let down her defenses in the company of Snape. But the worry line that had taken residence between Hermione's brows now rivaled that of the man sitting next to her. This wasn't right. By all rights, he should be yelling at her. Should she get Dumbledore? As Hermione worried, she noticed a pale hand, with long fingers fiercely clutching the deep grooves in between the stones of the floor.

Very slowly, Hermione's hand made its way to Snape's. She let her fingers gently graze the top of his hand. His breath hitched, but he made no move to stop her. In fact, his hand had removed its vice-like grip from the ground and had relaxed somewhat. Relief flooded her face, and she ran her fingers over his hand a few more times before allowing hers to find a home in his palm. Her thumb ran over his skin, and she knew he must have been outside for some time; he was quite cool. Hermione softly removed her hand from Snape's and replaced it with her right. Her left hand made its way to his back, and slowly she rubbed soft, comforting circles over the rough fibers of his cloak. She stopped for a minute in confusion; was he shaking? She didn't have the nerve to look at his face, but once again began to rub his back. A few minutes later, and Severus' hand began to respond to her caress, and he gently applied pressure to her fingers, which were encased in his own. Hermione let out a smile then, and leaning her head softly on his shoulder, she closed her eyes, enjoying the solitude that she never knew could come when with another. She caringly continued to rub his back until she fell asleep, but not before she noticed a cool thumb drawing the same comforting designs on her hand that she had applied to his back.

A cool blast of air hit Hermione in the face—sufficient enough to raise her out of her peaceful slumber. She lazily opened her eyes to the bright light that was now bathing the entire tower in its glow. She looked around. She was alone. A little ball of sadness rose in her throat. She shouldn't have expected that he would stay. It must be very embarrassing for him, she thought, to have revealed himself to a student. And a Know It All student at that. Hermione groaned as she sat, bones aching almost as much as her muscles had on the climb up. She yawned severely, and then sighed. It took her a few moments longer to wonder why she wasn't cold. Glancing down, she realized he had left his cloak. In fact, it was neatly tucked around her to fend off the cool morning breeze. Hermione brought the cloak up her face and inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of spices and potion ingredients. She stood up, wrapping the cloak around her body, appreciating the warmth and the scent of it. She didn't know when she would return it to him. He would certainly not appreciate if she did so in class. Hermione grinned. Perhaps she would hold onto it for a while. Lips still upturned, Hermione descended the stairs on a much easier journey towards the Head Girl's rooms.


	2. In His Eyes

Author's Note: There is a sequel to this story: _A Time For Understanding_.

Sparkling lights infused the darkened skies, and snow blanketed the ground in a gleaming white. It was picturesque, the epitome of calm. But the view meant little to the stolid figure of Severus Snape, who much preferred to surround himself with the darker black, which the Astronomy Tower provided in abundance. Icy winds whipped around the Potions Master, yet he was loath to notice, except for perhaps that small bit of subconscious that for whatever reason approved of the unpleasant sensations that assailed any small bits of exposed skin. It was a trivial bother, and could not compare to the more urgent matters that pressed so heavily upon his already overly burdened shoulders.

Another year lay ahead of them, surely laden with more than its share of struggle and loss. Voldemort was not yet overcome, and in all likelihood was currently planning his next strike against the innocents of this world. The ministry was of decidedly no help, and it seemed that the outcome of the war had become the responsibility of a mere child. Widely known were these facts, and yet to Severus' dismay colleagues and students alike continued the celebration of this New Year, not knowing if it might be their last. He supposed he could not fault them for this. But his nature had never been so inclined, and it would take more than Dumbledore's lurid decorations and merry music to distract him from his current thoughts. Especially when danger was so near— just a few short hours away.

He was called to the Dark Lord's side more frequently now; a sure sign that the present peace of this night was not long to endure. The surrounding dark had become his only friend, his only source of comfort before journeying to that congregation of personified corruption. Anxiety had once taken hold of him, and although his exterior remained unchanged, he had needed to take a calming breath before the dreaded apparation. Those days had long since passed— too many bouts of Cruciatus and the close proximity to evil had caused a disturbing sense of acceptance to develop in anxiety's stead. Despair accompanied that loss of hope, and ever since he had taken to climbing the many steps of the tower, where he could look down upon the world that never accepted him— the one which he was now desperately trying to save.

This night was perhaps the worst of all. His last encounter with the Unforgivables had been a mere two days prior, the occasional tremor an indication that his nerves had not yet sufficient time to stabilize. The pain, much like the bite of the wind, was sufferable, if at the end of his torture he had something worthy in return. But he had arrived within the safety of Hogwarts' walls with bruises, hurts, and details which although Dumbledore had graciously thanked him for, offered little assistance in the current crisis. Severus had returned to the dankness of his dungeons that night shadowed by feelings of failure and disappointment. They clung to him still, and promised to follow him into the horde this night as well. It was with these thoughts that he sat, futilely attempting to ground himself by clutching the unyielding stones of Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower floor.

And it was then that she came upon him, safeguarding her sanctuary very like the gargoyles that usually occupy such spots. Shoulders bowed and head hunched in thought, he had missed the echo of soft footsteps that had made their way from wall to wall. Quite surprising for a man's whose life depended on the acuity of his senses and the rapidity of his wits. Instead, it was with a slowly imperceptibility that he began to recognize his solitude had been encroached upon. But now aware of her presence, he found no need to turn and look at her. He knew who it was. He knew that voice. It was one he heard more than most; its tones and melodies filtering through his ears for at least an hour of every day. And he now recognized that voice even in the faintest whisper of her breath, which he was sure had now been made visible by the frigid air.

He became rigid then, feeling compelled to shout, to throw insults at her with his finest weapon, the one he used with even greater dexterity than his wand. But he had been caught off guard, his miseries having dulled his senses for these few crucial moments. And it was during this lapse of time where the perfect affront refused to come that allowed him to notice her silence. It was so completely out of character that Severus found himself influenced to go against convention as well. So he remained calm, her lack of words drawing his interest, silencing the poison that had been about to erupt from his lips.

She studied the form his silhouette made against the moonlight, and he felt his skin tingling under the intense scrutiny. Acknowledging her would give the appearance that he wanted her there, approved of her presence; it was an admission he had no intention of giving. So he sat very still, not looking at her, hoping she would leave and wishing her to stay in equal amounts. He felt her hesitation, but it was only for a moment, and then to his great surprise a small body slid next to him in unspoken companionship. They sat that way for long minutes, Severus' long fingers still clutching the cold stone floor. While they were here, silence unbroken, he almost felt as if she understood him. How could she cast such a spell without even the slightest incantation? Suddenly, a gust of air blew the dark strands of hair from his worried face, and Severus in turn felt curiously exposed.

She let out a soft sigh then, and looked down, presumably at the rocks with which he too seemed particularly taken with. But no, that wasn't it. With bare traces of tension, warm fingers began to trail a path down his too cool skin; from fingertips to wrist, and then back again. His lungs failed him for a moment. It had been long since he had been touched in a manner that had any basis in caring. And although he willed himself not to, he felt his fingers uncoil from their tight grip, relax, and ache for more of this sweet contact. He felt the loss of her hand for a moment, but it was soon replaced by the other. The sudden lurch he felt when he thought she would leave surprised him. But not as much as the hand that had begun to run up and down his back, radiating warmth through the heavy thickness of his cloak. He felt another tremor then; he didn't know if it was a result of Cruciatus or something more. His mind had gone deliciously blank, just focusing on the rhythm of the gentle hand that was giving him more comfort than he knew he had any right to experience.

Slowly, his inertia was overcome by the soft, fluttering motions of her fingers, and he in turn gave a slight squeeze to her slender hand, which had comfortably settled into his palm. He felt a bit out of his element in the midst of all this physical contact—especially the innocent, comforting variety, with which he had little experience. But he imagined that she must feel equally out of her element; doling out facts is quite different from doling out consolation. The thought gave him some comfort, and the strength to continue splaying his thumb across her velvety skin.

He didn't know how long they had been sitting there, sharing in this mutual comfort, but during that time her breath had evened out, her heart beating steadily as she drifted into sleep with the slightest hint of a smile upon her flushed lips. The sound of her breath reminding him of his own life, and how entirely unknown was its duration. He stifled a sigh, easing the slight body slowly off of his shoulder, which had been surprisingly accepting of her warm weight. Settling her gently on the ground, he watched the wind reeking havoc upon her already unruly arrangement of curls. He hesitated for a moment, before letting his fingers graze the glinting, riotous strands. This is what he was fighting for, after all. Of course, long sought after redemption was a motivation. But he also fought so that the Hermione Grangers of the world could sleep in peace.

With these thoughts he straightened up, feeling markedly better than he had at the beginning of his sojourn at the tower. He looked at his savior with something akin to affection; she had no idea how he'd needed this. But he allowed himself such sentimentality for only a passing moment. It was time to go. There was a meeting to attend. With great regret Severus readied himself to leave, donning the harsh mask of Snape once more, scowl and frown firmly etched in place. But taking one last look, he removed the cloak from about his shoulders, swiftly drawing its folds around Hermione's small, sleeping frame. Then with long, determined strides his shape melded into the shadows.


End file.
